A Great Adventure
by aces
Summary: A story set in the future.


A Great Adventure

I must stress that this is a work of complete, total, utter _fiction­--I have deliberately flouted the idea of being historically accurate in case it didn't suit my purposes for this story._Please remember that when you read this.(Look, Gavin Scott and the others started it when they first made the show!It's not my fault; I'm just following in their footsteps!);-)This is a sad story, I admit, with an off-screen character death, but please don't let that stop you reading it.And please remember that I don't own the characters involved, nor do I make any profit from this work of complete, total, utter fiction.However, if you like it, I'm sure there's more where this came from...

And forgive me my sentimentality.

A Great Adventure

"He had no business dying," Phileas Fogg said.

Rebecca glanced over at him through respectfully lowered eyes, her thoughts interrupted by his speaking.He'd almost sounded matter of fact, she mused to herself.

"We all have to do it sometime," she replied lightly.

There was a pause in their conversation as they stared down at the grave they'd come to visit on this cold autumn morning.After a moment, Phileas held out his hand wordlessly, without looking away from the ground.Rebecca took it.

"By God I miss him," Fogg sighed and turned to his cousin.

There might have been a tear in her eye as she looked up to squarely meet his eye.Possibly.But he didn't think so.She nodded in agreement and understanding and squeezed his hand before letting it go and turning away from the grave.Phileas paused to lay by the headstone the single white rose he'd brought, then followed her.

They began the walk out of the cemetery slowly.There was nowhere for them to rush to after all, not these days.Phileas still had his walking stick, only now he _had to use it, to lean on it for support.He knew his clothes were a tad out of fashion for the times, but he didn't care.He was comfortable._

And Rebecca was still as beautiful as ever, Phileas thought to himself with a smile that never quite reached his face.Perhaps her curls were white now, perhaps her eyes a little faded from their earlier brilliance, but she was still beautiful to him.Superb.

Rebecca held out her hand, as if she knew where his thoughts had headed--of course she did--and he took it gladly, giving her a warm smile.She smiled back, a little sadly."It has been a year," she pointed out.

"I know," Phileas replied."But...it still feels as if he isn't dead."

Another slight smile flicked across Rebecca's strong face."Mmm, I know what you mean," she said thoughtfully."But then, he had no business growing old in the first place, did he?"

Phileas laughed and swung her hand as if they were children, or perhaps young lovers."Do we?" he countered reasonably.

She only laughed.

"He did well for himself, Phileas," Rebecca said quietly after a while."He got exactly what he wanted from life, and he remained an optimist to his dying breath."

Phileas shook his head, but not in negation."He never did grow up really, did he?His soul remained forever the age of twenty-five."

A gentle smile caressed Rebecca's face."Just as it should be," she replied softly and stopped walking to turn back and look at the grave once more.

Phileas turned with her and studied the entirety of the cemetery."One more journey, Verne," he whispered to himself.

Rebecca bit her bottom lip hard.She firmly controlled herself.Fogg took one look at her face and slipped an arm around her waist, holding her close to his side and supporting her.He didn't speak.There was no need.

"He was so bloody cheerful," she said, her voice not quite as under control as it should have been or as she would have wished."The last time I saw him.A month before he died.So bloody hopeful."He'd given her that same gentle smile that hadn't changed in decades; he'd been as charmingly sweet as ever.That was what kept him young, she knew--that and his undying belief and unshakeable faith in humanity.And even as he stayed young in some ways, he grew older and wiser in others.Such a wonderful, gentle old man.She missed strolling with him in his garden."I didn't even know anything was wrong."She laughed a little."I was surprised, though, when he kissed me good-bye.On the cheek, no less. I don't think he'd _ever had the courage to do that before."_

Fogg smiled at the image, but he was soon sober again."He didn't want you to know," he told her.A slight laugh escaped him as he remembered a conversation he'd had well over a year ago."He couldn't face your temper, he said."

She gasped out a half-laugh, half-sob in reply."Well, he was right," she said, her control dangerously close to breaking completely down.She remembered how she'd reacted to the news of his death; if she'd known beforehand, she didn't know what she would have done.Probably even more vases would have been broken.It certainly wouldn't have helped Jules.

Phileas was smiling slightly, as if he too were remembering how she had reacted, or as if he were picturing how she would have behaved in those other circumstances."He didn't want Passepartout to know, either," he pointed out, "knowing how the little idiot would carry on."

"But he told you."It wasn't a question.

"He had to tell someone," Fogg shrugged."I was the logical choice."

Rebecca nodded, a long curl of white hair falling over her shoulder.Phileas brushed it back fondly.Verne had known Phileas outwardly at least would accept the news the most calmly of the three; it _had been a logical choice.It had been a burden to Fogg, to know one of his best and most loved friends was dying--a burden for both of them.But once Jules had told him, it seemed to lighten for them both--it was as if Verne had known that would happen, known that the knowledge wouldn't break Fogg as it might have done years and years ago.Jules had known he could still trust Phileas after all these years.No need to say anything about their relationship, about where they stood with each other.They'd known.The thought still comforted Phileas._

"He loved you very much, Rebecca," Phileas said softly.And that was why Verne could never have told her, or Passepartout.He couldn't bear to cause his friends pain.

She nodded again quickly, refusing to lift her face and look up at him.He could see the twitch of her mouth anyway, didn't need to see her eyes."I know," she answered."And I know he knew I loved him."At last she looked up at her cousin and smiled."I'm glad he got to say good-bye."

Fogg smiled at her affectionately."And are you glad he got to kiss you one last time?" he teased gently.

Her smile widened, positively became a grin."Oh yes," she said with a certain relish that would probably be considered unsuitable in a lady of such advanced years.Fogg's own smile stretched.

They continued their walk at last."I think Passepartout still misses him the most," Phileas went on, keeping one arm comfortably entwined with his Rebecca's, the other firmly on his cane."He's finally given up moping, but he does so terribly miss Verne's help on his inventions."

"I know," Rebecca sighed."Poor little fellow.He's put up some of Jules's old drawings in his room--some of the first ones Jules drew while with us, I think.Refuses to take them down again, even though they're brittle and falling apart."

"We all have to do it sometime," Fogg repeated Rebecca's own words to her, his voice hushed with his reminder.

"But why did he have to go first?"There was anger in her voice, and frustration, as she finally let loose about something Fogg knew had been bothering her for a year but she had refused to admit to.He was glad she was finally getting it out so he could speak to her about it."It should have been you or me, Phileas."

"No, Rebecca," Phileas told her softly, squeezing her arm."Not anymore.He didn't die heroically saving you from Count Gregory; he wasn't killed because I couldn't rescue him in time from some damned silly self-sacrifice.He was an old man in ill health.It was his time.He was happy.He'd had his adventures, he'd written and published his books, he'd seen his children grow up.He lived his life and he was happy when he died."

"And us?" Rebecca asked dolefully."Will we too die in our sleep?"

Fogg laughed; he couldn't help himself."Oh I know _Rebecca, that you would rather go out fighting," he told her, amusement gleaming in his eyes and warming his voice, "but you must admit it.Our battles are done.We are at peace."_

He'd realized that over a year ago, when Verne had spoken to him in private, as brave and strong as when the lad had been twenty-three.When Fogg himself had somehow broken through his English reserve and hugged the little fellow.And he'd realized that he _was at peace.No more demons to plague him.It was a very...serene... existence._

He was happy with that.

They reached the gate and paused again for one last look.They didn't know when they would be back here. If they would ever have a chance to come back here.The autumn was cold, Rebecca realized with a shiver.

"Well, Mr Jules Verne," she said into the silence and felt the comforting presence of Phileas by her side, supporting her, "I hope your final voyage is an extraordinary one."

Phileas kissed her on the cheek."Let's go," he said quietly.

They turned away together.


End file.
